Nepenthes
by RaNdOm Hp FaN
Summary: Post-GOF. Rated R for angst, self-injury, child abuse and psychological problems.
1. Prologue

*** "While memory holds a seat  

In this distracted globe. Remember thee!   

Yea, from the table of my memory   

I'll wipe away all trivial fond records,   

All saws of books, all forms, all pressures past,  

That youth and observation copied there;   

And thy commandment all alone shall live   

Within the book and volume of my brain,   

Unmix'd with baser matter: yes, by heaven!"

Hamlet, Act I, Scene v.

Disclaimer:  No, I don't own Hamlet, nor anything associated with Harry Potter except my copies of the books and the DVDs I have nearly worn out.

Summary:  James Edwards is your average everyday muggle.  He's 15, a Goth and goes to a Jesuit-run boarding school called St. Ignatius.  But at the edge of his memory are visions of people he cannot ever remember meeting… and his next door neighbor is a witch!  When he dreams of a horrifying monster kidnapping his next door neighbor, what will he do?

Enjoy!

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            James Edwards aimlessly wandered the streets of Reading, consumed by hunger, pain and fatigue.  The swelling in his right wrist and forearm was going down, but he only vaguely remembered injuring it.  And were it not for the fact that he couldn't remember anything else, he would have sworn that he had punched something while he was drunk.  But he wasn't hung over, and he wasn't still drunk.  He had been wandering since at least that morning, and he hadn't remembered anything but his name, which had been written on a piece of paper in his pocket.  It was faded and torn, and since he didn't really remember his name, it was only what he assumed was his name.  

            His feet hurt from endlessly pounding the pavement, and his calves were burning.  After one got an excruciating cramp, he collapsed on a curb outside an office building.  A light rain fell from the gray skies and his blonde hair stuck to his head and dripped water into his eyes.  Running his left hand through his hair, he looked from one end of the street he was on to the other, and tried to figure out his next move.  He would need to eat soon, and he had next to no money.  

            "Excuse me?" a woman's voice asked as he sat thinking hard.  

            James jumped and turned to face her.  "Yes, ma'am?"

            "The weather is bound to get worse soon.  Thunder and lightning are expected by noon.  I realize it's barely nine in the morning, but you should head home," she said, holding a black umbrella over both of them.  She wore a gray wool suit, with black high heels and pearls around her neck.  Her slim glasses framed a face surrounded by reddish hair.  

            "You assume that I have one.  I don't remember anything before 3 days ago," James explained. 

            She dropped all pretenses, staring at the teenager in shock.  His blonde hair was a shoulder length tangled mess, his clothes were wet and muddied, and his face was pale, gaunt and bruised.  She shook her head, attempting to think of what he could be doing there.  "Fine then.  You're injured.  So you are coming with me to the National Health Service clinic just inside, and out of the weather.  We can check with the police and file a report on your physical appearance and see what comes of it.  But you need medical help and a dry place to stay, before you get sick," she said, standing up.  

            He sighed, knowing he was not going to win this argument with her.  "I don't think that I can…"

            "No arguing," she said, pulling him to his feet.  "That arm is broken and won't get better without a physician."

            He nearly dwarfed the woman when standing.  "I suppose a small delay wouldn't hurt.  Ms…"

            "O'Brien.  Dr. Grace O'Brien," she said, extending her left hand in greeting.

            "James Edwards," he replied, clasping hers firmly.  "I think."

            James sat in an exam room shortly thereafter, wrapped in a white blanket as a doctor strode in.  His hair was toweled dry, and he sat wearing only a hospital gown, as his clothing was sopping wet.  The doctor on the other hand, was dressed in a suit and tie, with carefully styled hair.  

            The doctor walked to a light board and put up six sheets of x-rays that showed a right hand, right forearm (two views), a head view and a chest series.  "Well, James, you appear to have multiple fractures in your right radius and ulna, as well as three separate metacarpals and phalanges.  You have four broken ribs, here, here, here and here.  And there is a fracture in your left zygomatic.  I have to ask this question.  Was this done by any of your caregivers?" he asked, rubbing his forehead.

            "You want to know if I was abused?" James asked quietly.

            "I am required by law to ask."

            "I don't remember.  I have a concussion, don't I?"

            The doctor nodded.  "I'm going to get the supplies to cast your arm here and bind those ribs," he said, walking to the door.  When he opened it, he turned to Grace, who was waiting outside, talking on the phone.  "You can come back in now."

            Grace walked in and sat down.  "James, I have checked with the police as far away as London.  They have no report of a missing boy that fits your description, and there is no record of you in any of the orphanages in the country.  I've talked it over with my husband, Liam, and we think that you should stay with us until we can find anything about your family."

            "Oh, no, I couldn't impose.  You've done more than enough for me today," James said, his blue eyes looking into her green.

            "No one has done enough for you in quite some time, James.  That much is damn evident, and I am unwilling to let you leave to go back out into that mess.  You are too noble for your own good, and I refuse to let you back out because of that sense of chivalry.  You are coming home with me," she said warningly.

            "My God, you are a forceful woman, aren't you?" James asked with a smile.  

            "I'm Irish.  Irish women get our way."

            "Sorry for the delay.  Grace, did you find anything?"

            "No such luck.  But I'm taking him in for a while," she said.

            "You're lucky.  It's not everyday she takes a liking to someone.  Let's have a look at those ribs, okay?" the doctor whispered.

            James loosed his hold on the blanket, and let it slip to his waist, revealing a scarred back.  Grace uttered a few curse words and resisted the urge to touch the bruises and semi-healed weals on the boy's ribs and back.

            "Dr. O'Brien, it's not as painful as it looks," James said, shifting himself on the table, as the doctor began wrapping his ribs with a compression bandage.  "I think," he said, sucking in a breath, as he felt pain from the injury.  But he carefully hid the cuts on his wrist.  He didn't want her to think that he was some sort of suicidal psycho.  He knew she was a psychiatrist, and didn't want her to commit him.  But then again, for all he knew, he was a psycho.

            "James, let me give you a shot to ease the pain a bit, and numb the arm before I start this.  Otherwise, you will pass out."

            "Will it affect my concussion?"

            "It shouldn't.  This is a local anesthetic," he said, uncapping the needle.

            "Okay," he said, as the doctor injected the medicine into his arm.  "Son of a…"

            The doctor took the arm, and grasped it firmly, setting it from years of experience.  "Done.  All it needs is a brace for a couple of days.  Grace will need to bring you back after the swelling goes down a bit more so that we can place it in a cast."  He pulled a brace out, and placed it around his arm.  "Grace knows what to look for when dealing with broken bones.  So I won't go into that today."

            James had winced, but said nothing as the bones were returned to their rightful place.  Sensing that the doctor's visit was over, he pulled a dry jumper from his bag.  After putting it on, Grace fitted the sling on his right shoulder, and helped him by lifting his bag.  "Come on, let's get you home."

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Reviews are appreciated… I like to feel loved.  It takes only a few minutes to make my day… and this week has been hell!

BTW, 'Nepenthes' is a type of drug used in order to forget grief.  Yes, there is a reason the story is named Nepenthes.


	2. The Witch Next Door

'"Wretch," I cried, "Thy God hath lent

thee--by these angels he hath sent thee

Respite--respite and nepenthe from thy

memories of Lenore,

Quaff, oh quaff this kind nepenthe and

forget this lost Lenore!"

Quoth the Raven "Nevermore."'

The Raven, Edgar Allan Poe (also not mine)

Hermione Granger knocked on #18 Ash Lane one Saturday afternoon in Reading. Her brown hair was tamed in a French plait and she wore a muggle t-shirt and jeans. Hermione rang the bell a second time and waited as the door opened. 

James Edwards stood there, holding the door open with his good hand. His golden wavy hair framed his slender face, and he wore a soft charcoal gray t-shirt, with faded blue jeans and his sling. On his left side was a home fashioned sling, which held a sleeping child. "You must be Hermione, the babysitter."

"Yes, you're James?"

"Of course. And this bundle is Patrick." He indicated, pulling a tiny hand out from the blankets. The hand curled into a fist around his right pointer finger, which caused him to flinch with the pressure. "Enough Trick, that's the broken one. Well, introductions having been made, would you care to come in off the doorstep?"

He brought her in through the foyer. "This way to the kitchen. Or have you been here before?"

"Once, a long time ago," she said, steadying the book bag on her shoulder.

Grace came into the kitchen, where James had brought Hermione, and she pulled Patrick from his sleeping place, and headed into the nursery. "Give me a hand, James?"

"Of course, Grace. Hermione."

Liam entered the kitchen shortly thereafter, and greeted Hermione. "How are you doing, dear? School going okay?"

She hoped he didn't see her tearing up. "Well, Mr. O'Brien," she began, forcing a smile on her face. "I needed the holiday from school desperately." Liam always reminded her of Seamus Finnegan, with his musical Irish brogue. 

"Don't we all from time to time, dear. Well, we're taking James to get a haircut, some new clothes, then dinner. We ought to be back by nine and there's food in the pantries if you get hungry. Unless he needs something, Patrick ought to sleep rather well. James is excellent at putting him to sleep and Grace and I have gotten more sleep in the past week than we have in the past 6 months. There are times that I don't know how we ever managed without him. An excellent big brother to Patrick," he said, pacing the kitchen, trying to remember everything about what he needed to tell her.

"Anything else, Mr. O'Brien?"

"Yes. Grace will be carrying a pager in case you need anything. The number is by the phone. There's a baby monitor that I just put in the telly room for you. I think that's about all, Hermione."

James reentered the room. "Well, Hermione, he's asleep, freshly changed, and fed before you came. Let me show you where we keep the formula." He opened the icebox and showed her what to do with the ease of a professional. 

As he replaced one of the bottles in the cupboard, she saw the pale scars on his left wrist. Following her eyes, he quickly withdrew his hand and looked back at her. "Yes?"

"Nothing. Sorry?"

"Whatever. Anyways. If he won't go to sleep, say 'Somnio'. It usually helps. I don't know why," he said, shrugging.

Hermione nodded, and waved as the trio left. Sighing, she closed the door, and walked back to the living room. Turning up the baby monitor, she opened her back and pulled out a book: (The Standard Book of Spells: Grade 5).

Forcing herself to focus less on what had gone on that previous June, she studied as always and wrote a letter to Ron, advising him to start studying for OWLs already. She wrote a second letter, to Harry, in which she told him that she was worrying about him, and gently asked him how he was. 

Her eye fell on the open book, where she looked at the spell named 'The Somnius Charm'. For the peaceful sleep of children and those in need of calming. Also thought to cure colic. Word used: 'Somnio.'

As Hermione lived in #16 Ash Lane, she saw James quite frequently during the months of July and August. But she never brought herself to ask him how he knew a spell that was so advanced that she hadn't covered it in class yet. Or why he had those scars on his arm. 

One day, he was walking with Patrick under the trees near the Granger's house as their Land Rover pulled up. Hermione jumped out of the back seat, as Mrs. Granger left the driver's seat. "James!" Hermione shouted to get his attention.

"Hey Hermione," he said, with a touch of an Irish brogue, probably gained by Liam's influence. "You went on a trip?"

"No. Just picking up a friend from school. We're leaving for London in a few days, so we can get some things done before school starts," she said, moving closer to the hedge. 

James shifted Patrick in his arms, to balance the weight a bit. "Ah. What's her name?"

A red-headed boy James' age came from the boot of the Land Rover pulling a trunk and a tan book bag. 

"Um, I don't have any real girl friends in my year. This is Ron, one of my best friends. Ron, this is James Edwards, and the little tyke is Patrick O'Brien," she said, gesturing to each of the boys in turn. "James, did Grace kick you out again?"

"Very funny, Hermione," he said, rubbing the place by his eyes where the black eyeliner was irritating him. "Don't know why I forgot to laugh. Grace has appointments all day at the centre, and Liam's at a party fundraiser. So I got Patrick to myself all day. And watching the telly was far too damn depressing."

"So you're just sitting outside with an infant?" Hermione asked, smiling. "Tough guy you are."

"You know I have a soft spot where Trick is concerned." He smiled at them.

"Yeah, I do. Got any other plans for the day?"

"Yes. I plan to be bored out of my wits. So far it's working fairly nice."

"Well, we were going to take the bus to the department store downtown. Would you like to come?" she asked, tapping her foot a bit.

"Let me go call Grace. If I don't get out of this house, I am going to go crazy. She'll understand. Could you ask your mum to baby-sit for Trick?" James asked, thinking hard.

"Sure. Come on over when you hear about it, okay?" Hermione asked, giving Ron a hand with his trunk.

"Hermione, what's so interesting about this guy? You mentioned him in letters," Ron said as they walked toward her house.

"Not here, Ron. Let's take your stuff to the guest room."

Maybe 5 minutes later, James strode through the front door of the Granger's house, dressed in all black, even down to the black nail polish he had worn earlier. After the first time Hermione had seen his scars, he either wore long sleeves or leather wristcuffs, as he did today. In August, it had gotten too warm to wear black longsleeves, so he had bought a sleeveless rock band t-shirt and wore it with black jeans. He had hidden a CD player in the diaper bag that he carried, and was listening to loud harsh music when he reached the kitchen. 

"Hello, Mrs. Granger. How are you?"

"I'm well, James. How's the arm?" She said, smiling and taking Patrick from his arms.

"Better. I should be completely fine by the time I head off to school. Just trying to work the strength back into it now," he said, shifting the CD player into his left hand, and setting down the diaper bag.

"When did you get that tattoo, James?"

"Oh. Long time ago." It was his blanket answer for when he really didn't remember. 

"They're settling Ron in the guest room second door on the right. Go on in, James." She said, turning back to Patrick.

He walked to the room the two teens were in, and paused outside, listening.

A lamp clicked on. "And it just comes on, like that? Eckeltricity again?"

"Electricity, Ron, but yes."

"Ingenious what the Muggles have come up with, to get around having no magic. Dad would be fascinated by all this Muggle stuff. You know, living with it, not just looking at it," he said, in awe.

"Ron, while you're here, you really shouldn't mention magic or muggles. Take James for example. He doesn't have a clue about the Wizarding World, Dementors or You Know Who." Hermione paused. "He's perfectly happy."

"You know, private conversations are usually best conducted with the door closed," James said, half-smiling.

The two magical teens jumped. "Oh crap, James. How much did you hear?"

"Well, Eckeltricity, Muggles, magic, wizarding world, dementors and you-know-who. And I don't suppose those are magic wands that you two are holding at me?" James said, rather calmly under the circumstances.

"Ron, we are in so much trouble. This is against the muggle treatment codes. We have to get in touch with your father. The Ministry has to know," Hermione said, rubbing her temples.

"Bring the Obliviators here and I'll put a boot up your arse," James said suddenly, then shook his head. "Where the hell did that come from?"

They sat on the bus, drawing stares. James draped his body on the seats, getting comfortable, Ron sat as though he was in a high backed chair, and Hermione had sat across from them so that they could talk. James just left his headphones on, pretending that he couldn't hear the whispers. He also brought out his shades and glared back at those people who stared at him. 

"James, it doesn't bother you that people are looking at you like that?" Ron asked quietly. "Our best friend hates it when people do that."

"Hold on a second, Ron. Ma'am, is there something wrong with my face?" he asked politely.

A middle-aged woman had been caught staring, and blushed crimson. 

"Sorry. You were saying?"

"You sort of answered my question," Ron said, smiling.

"Well, to some point, it does, but even if you talk to them nicely, half will piss their pants," James said. "Took a bit for my mum, Grace, to explain that to me."

"So when do the papers come through?" Hermione asked.

"Oh. Next Wednesday, we go to court for the formal signing. Grace and Liam are so happy. And they insist that I dress in a suit and tie. Doesn't that suck?" James said, a small smile belying the words. "Then I become James Edward O'Brien."

"What are you doing with those things on your head?" Ron asked, confused. 

"It's called a CD player, Ron. These things play music, and I can listen to them using these headphones. You wanna listen?" James asked, taking them off to hand them to Ron. 

James turned up the music as Ron put them on, and Ron said rather loudly, "Wow, this is amazing…" before Hermione put her hand over his mouth. "James, what are you listening to?"

"Magic Carpet Ride, by Steppenwolf."

She looked slightly confused, but said, "Well, I haven't heard of them, but that's not saying much. I don't listen to much music."

"That much is certain," Ron said, returning the headphones. "She's a book person, if you hadn't guessed."

"Don't worry, I guessed. She's been helping me with my subjects ever since Liam decided to send me to St. Ignatius. He always said that he wouldn't trust another school with his children."

"Where's that?" Ron asked.

"I don't know. Somewhere in Northumberland, I think. But then again, we leave in less than a week," James said. "And they _have a dress code_," he added with a lisp. 

Hermione smiled. "So does our school. But at least it's comfortable." She looked over her shoulder, as she had been turned around to face the boys. "This is our stop."

James stood up, gesturing to Ron. "So move already."

The three stepped out of the bus and found themselves in front of a huge storefront. James smiled, and exchanged greetings with three other Goths who were standing outside, smoking what Hermione hoped was a cigarette. James took a drag, and blew it out. "Good stuff, man," James replied, handing it back. "You guys remember Hermione?"

One of the boys recognized her and cuffed her on the shoulder gently. "Hi."

"This is her friend from boarding school, Ron," James continued.

"A co-ed boarding school? Nice. Wish I could go there," the tallest boy said.

James laughed. "Just cause you hate your school doesn't mean you can go to Scotland. Anyways, we're just headed inside. Any troubles?"

The third one spoke in an Australian accent, "Well, nothing as yet, but then again, we're waiting for Kevin."

"Crap. I thought Kevin was banned for life from the store, remember?" James said, rubbing his forehead.

The first boy tried to hand the cigarette to Ron. James put his hand up and moved his friend's hand away. "He doesn't want any. Well, we'd better get going. Got some stuff to buy before Kevin gets every one of us banned for life from the store," James said, guiding Ron and Hermione inside.

"I had forgotten that Kevin was out," James muttered. 

"What did he do?"

"Oh, right. He was being escorted out of the place after the customers complained one day. He didn't go quietly," James said, moving inside. "Liam was one of the attorneys in the case. Defence, I think. Got 2 months."

"They ever do that to you?"

"No," James replied. "I'm too damn nice. Besides, I'm not here that often. And most of the people in this store know Grace, for the number of times she brought me here."

"Hey, James," a clerk called.

"Andrew. How's work treating you?"

"Can't complain. You need any help?"

"Yeah. If you see the security guards headed my way, give me a little time to run, okay? The last time, one of them nearly ripped my arm off before Grace found me," James said. 

"Got it. Have a good day."

James waved. 

"Why were you…?"

"Kevin's legacy and a woman who didn't like the look of me. But the management knows that my father is a lawyer, or the man who will be my father, at least. So they don't want a discrimination lawsuit on their hands," James said, moving them towards the women's clothing section. 

"So, James, how did you know about the you know what's?"

"Oh, that," James said, holding up a shirt for Hermione. "I don't know. I actually don't remember anything before early July. Sometimes a word or a sight triggers a memory, but nothing major. Grace is beginning to get frustrated. Nothing seems to work, and she's tried hypnosis as well."

Hermione shook her head, but James pushed it at her anyways. "Try it on. Red is very much your color."

Ron smiled for some unknown reason, and she nodded. "Okay. I'll give it a shot."

"All I ask. Ron, you wanna make a suggestion?"

"Like what?" Ron hissed.

"Well, is she more like a girlfriend, or a sister?" James asked, _sotto voce_. 

"I don't know," Ron said, nonplussed.

"Alright. So suggest a skirt in each type, then see what looks better on her," James said, smiling. "Time's a wasting, Ron. I know that she isn't attached at present."

"What about Viktor Krum?"

"What about him? I haven't heard anything about this Viktor guy. Just you and some guy named Harry, and she seemed really worried about him for some reason, but it ain't love," James confided.

Ron's face lit up. He pawed through a rack or two, and came up with a suggestion that James would definitely have placed in the 'girlfriend' category. 

Hermione blushed, but took the clothes and went to the changing rooms. 

"She's a bit of a social butterfly. But only when she's in the right company," James said, looking in the black section for Hermione.

"James, what do you remember?" Ron asked.

"Not much. Not even my name. And from what I _have_ pieced together of my life, I don't know that I want to remember. Too many scars, too many beatings," James said, wincing at the memory. He ran his hand through his short, but still blonde hair. "But now, I have two parents who love me unconditionally, and quite over protectively. I have a little brother, who I absolutely adore. And even though I am leaving again soon, I still like this life better."

Hermione came back, smiling. "They were great."

"So, are you going to buy them?"

"I don't know. Why?"

James elbowed Ron. "Give her a reason," he hissed.

"Because I know that you'll look great in them, I can almost see you in them now. Of course…" he said stumbling as James shook his head and sighed. "You'd look great in almost anything."

James sighed in relief and pulled Ron closer. "Nice save. We need to work on your social skills though."

They made their way to the men's section where Hermione tried to get Ron to try on some clothes. Finally, James pushed Ron off to the changing rooms, and looked at some shirts in his size. 

"James, what are you doing?"

"Shopping?" he asked innocently.

"No. What are you trying to get Ron to do?" she asked, putting her hand on the rack in front of him.

"Oh that. You were so made for each other it isn't even funny. And neither one of you seemed ready to make a move without some prodding. He seemed the easiest person to manipulate at the time. You two will make a really cute couple, you know. Just learn to compromise. It's the only problem I can foresee," James said, smiling.

"How did you know that we had such a big fight before the ball last year?" Hermione asked. "He asked me as a last resort, and I nearly punched him."

"I'm sorry. But he just needed a bit of encouragement. What do you want to bet that he didn't want to mess up your friendship, especially the one you had with your other friend?" James said. "You mind if we look at music? I have enough clothes to last me for a while."

"Not at all. I've been meaning to ask you. That wasn't marijuana, was it?" Hermione asked.

"Um, I don't think so. But then, you don't know, unless you see them open the new package. And I don't smoke that often, just a drag every now and again. That was probably my last for about the next several months. As I might be coming back for Christmas," James said, shaking his head at Ron who was coming back. "How'd they fit, mate?"

"Okay. But I don't know. I'm not really that good at shopping for clothes," Ron replied, replacing a couple, then looking at a couple other shirts. "What a cool pattern."

"Holy crap. You're kidding me right? Back away from the maroon shirt," Hermione said, smiling. "You hate the maroon sweaters your mum sends you every year."

"You don't ask her for another color?" James asked. "Ask her for a black one. See what she'll say. Sure, you'll look Halloweenish, but you won't look like a plum."

--00--

Damn, this was a long chapter. Don't expect the rest to be this long, or you WILL be disappointed. You read me? It's only this long because there was no logical stopping place around 2000 words.

The quote was just so that you know where I found the class of drugs called Nepenthes. Look it up… it's in OED if you need it, or Websters. Besides, I defined it last chapter.

**** So… I don't have a Beta, looking for one or two… mostly for grammar and helping plot holes… because I retain the right to control my stories. You can suggest it, if I hate it, I won't use it. Got it? I do want someone who can promise me 2-3 day turn around… thinking of posting twice a week, depending on schoolwork. If you're expecting me to post the day I have three final exams, you're crazier than I am.****

Authors Note: I am thinking of starting a yahoo e-group for people who want updates for my fanfics. Let me know of your interest, and if you have any good ideas for names. I would appreciate them and will post my decision on my profile or the next chapters of my fics.


	3. St Ignatius School for Boys

Nepenthes: Chapter 3 – Sticks in the Mud and a New School

A memory is a beautiful thing, it's almost a desire that you miss. – Gustave Flaubert

The three managed to finish shopping without incident, and returned to Ash Lane shortly thereafter. As the two magical people were leaving for London the next day, James said his farewells, and promised to write, via Hermione's parents. Laying down on his bed, he mentally reviewed the things Liam told him that he could pack, so he wouldn't forget anything tomorrow in his day of packing. He undid his wristcuffs, glancing at the scars that rested there. Turning up his headphones again, he listened to a new CD. Pulling out a black leather notebook that he had hidden under the bed, James moved to the desk in his room. Pulling out a set of pencils, he sketched a face that was just at the edge of his consciousness. Dark, slightly unkempt hair fell in blue eyes, and a few days stubble rested on the man's chin. No scars marred the features, and his face was in an expression of laughter. This person was happy, and trustworthy, James thought. It was a familiar face. He didn't know how, but he knew that he saw it often. He fell asleep, face down on the desk, sketching the eyes in greater detail. Warm, caring eyes that soothed him. 

Grace came into his room, turning off the overhead light, and as she couldn't move him, wrapped him in a blanket. "Oh, James. Sleeping again." She brushed his blonde hair with her fingers, and removed the pencil from his hand.

She paused at the doorway, and smiled, knowing how scarce sleep was for the teenager. Grace shut the door quietly, and walked into her bedroom, just down the hall.

James O'Brien stepped out of his father's car and looked at the stone buildings before him. He was on a campus of old buildings, but he was certain that he had seen older before. The students were from ages 11 to 18 that he could see, and all were dressed in identical blue blazers, with red blue and gold ties. He felt every set of eyes in the courtyard on him, but shrugged it off.

"Welcome to St. Ignatius, James," Liam said, draping an arm on his son's shoulder.

James lowered his sunglasses, and adopted a rather neutral expression. Not wanting to offend his father, or to be completely sarcastic, he opted for something safer. "It's nice."

"Liam," a young Jesuit called from across the yard. "I didn't know that you were coming back so soon."

"Brother Benjamin, I guess. Didn't know that you joined the Society. It's been so long," he said, taking the man's hand in a firm handshake.

"Who's this, Liam?"

"Ben, this is James. My son."

Benjamin donned a confused expression. "I thought you were just married two years ago."

"I'm adopted," James replied decisively. 

"Yup. And he's excellent with taking care of our wee babe, Patrick. I always wanted at least two sons. I have two of the best in the world," he said, smiling at James.

"Well, what say I give the two of you a hand with James' things and we get you settled?" Ben said, changing subjects quickly. James and Liam each brought a suitcase, and Benjamin carried a garment bag.

James could hear the whispers as he walked past the returning students. Resisting the urge to bait them, James simply ignored them, bringing his shades back up. "Weirdos," he muttered under his breath.

They came to a small room with his name outside the door. Inside were two beds, two desks, and a wardrobe on either wall. James claimed the unmade bed and set his suitcase down on the floor. On the desk were several books, but James didn't look at the titles just yet.

"Well, Mr. O'Brien, we will be having a Floor Meeting just before dinner so that the newer students can get acquainted with the old hands. Get dressed in the uniform before then, please. Liam, I have things to attend to, but it was great to see you again. Don't be a stranger."

James tossed his sunglasses on the desk and emptied a few things out of his pocket, as the Jesuit left the room. He surveyed the room, and the view out of the window.

"So, James. What do you think?"

"Well, it's, uh, a new experience. I mean, I don't think I've ever been to a Catholic boarding school before," he replied, setting his largest suitcase on the bed.

"I'll admit, it is a wee bit of a culture shock at first, but once you get used to it, you'll find it's nearly second nature. Why don't you start unpacking and I'll read you the rules so that you can get two things done at once? That way you'll know where everything gets put," Liam asked, pulling out the chair from the desk and picking up the thinner of the four books.

James just said, "Okay," and opened his wardrobe. Beginning with his pants and socks, he unpacked all his clothes as his father droned on about morning prayers, proper use of the uniforms, curfews, and the like.

"… And your mum and I expect a letter once a week," Liam instructed.

"About what, da?" James asked, confused.

"Your marks, your friends, your sports. Anything. Everything, okay?" Liam asked as James took his hanging clothes and placed them in the wardrobe, then moved down to arrange his dress shoes.

A knock came at the doorway. "Come in," said Liam.

A boy about James' age walked in, already dressed in the blue blazer and tie of the school. "Hello, my name is Jonathan Spencer. I'm one of the guys just across the hall. Brother Ben asked me to see if you needed any help."

"Liam O'Brien. This is my son, James." Liam said, shaking the boys hand. 

James gave a half-wave and said, "Hello, mate," but it was muffled by the inside of the wardrobe.

"My son. A man of few words if ever I knew one. James, come out of the wardrobe?" Liam said, mock-sighing.

James hit his head on the inside of the cupboard. "You stick your head in a wardrobe, then give yourself a concussion and see how talkative you are, da. Hi, Jonathan. It's James."

"James, you got everything out of the boot?"

"Aye, remember, we made it in one trip?" he opened the second suitcase which had non-uniform items in it. 

"Well, I've got a drive ahead of me. You have a good term and we'll see you at Christmas, James."

James stood again and hugged his father. "My love to mum and Trick. Drive carefully."

Liam left, leaving James and his floor mate alone. "He's a bit talkative, but a good da."

"You're a bit quiet, aren't you?" Jon asked, looking at him a bit skeptically.

"Not usually. Just not verbose. I am rather concise. What do you like to be called?" James asked, unpacking a shirt with every sentence.

"Jon or Spencer is fine," he replied in a soft Welsh accent. "How about you?"

"James or O'Brien. I've never been called Jim, and I don't know why, but Jimmy makes me homicidal." James smiled as his new friend paled. "It was a joke, Jon."

"You smiled," Jon said, falling off the bed.

This made James laugh heartily. He picked up the rosary packed in his suitcase and set it on the desk. "What? Not allowed to smile because I'm dressed like a Goth?"

"It was unexpected. You know what they say, that the clothes usually make the man," Jon replied, recovering from the floor.

James went back to the suitcase and started laughing uncontrollably. 

"What is it?"

James held up a package of cotton balls and nail polish remover. "My mum," he said, between gales of laughter. "She's too smart for me."

Jon smiled with him.

"So you actually look normal without the black makeup and stuff," Jon said after the meeting that afternoon.

"That's what my neighbor said the first time that she saw me without the makeup," James said, pulling at his tie. "I hate these nooses."

"I think everyone does. So have you given any thought what you want to do while you're here?"

"What?" James asked, confused. "What do you mean?"

"Well, I'm in the odd club or two, but I play rugby. You should try out, we've got openings on the team."

James laughed again. "I've never even seen it played before," he said, returning to his room.

"Well, then I have a book that I can loan you. But you're not getting off that easy due to ignorance," Jon said, pausing at the door. "Hi, Peter."

James did a double take. His previously absent roommate was there. "Hi. James O'Brien."

"You're Irish."

"Brilliant observation, Holmes. Next you'll be telling me that I am a Catholic too," James said, sarcastically. 

"Come on, James, let's go to my room," Jon said, pulling his friend's arm. "I've usually got a stash of otherwise forbidden sweets… mum is almost religious about putting them in my things. But you can't tell my roommate or yours. Sticklers for rules, you know."

"What the hell is his problem?" James breathed, as he moved out of his own room.

"His father works for Scotland Yard. Was injured in an IRA action. Doesn't like the Irish as a result," Jon said. "I wonder if we could get the Brothers to switch you and my roommate. He's too proper for me. Otherwise, you might be dead before the week is out."

"I don't know, Jon. I just unpacked," James said, half-smiling, sitting on Jon's bed.

"Hello, Jonathan. How are your mother and father?"

James suppressed a smile. 

"Well, Andrew. They send their greetings," Jon said, not quite serious.

"That is excellent. Who is this fellow?" he said, taking notice of James for the first time. 

"James Edward O'Brien, from Reading." James shook his hand.

"Andrew Munro Kirk, from Edinburgh. Is this your first year at St. Ignatius?" he asked, cordially.

"Yes. It's been interesting so far."

"Yes, I daresay so. I mean, you were dressed in such noteworthy attire earlier," Andrew said.

"Yeah, I guess that's one way of putting it. And I just met my roommate. He doesn't like me already. And he didn't see me for more than 5 seconds," James said, fussing with his hair again. Liam had urged him to have it cut, and he hated the length it was now… it was too short and spiky for his liking.

"Andrew, you were rooming with Peter last year. Would it be alright with you if I asked the Brothers to switch you and James? You actually get along with him," Jon said, fingering the things on his desk.

"I suppose that would be acceptable. I have a prefect meeting in about 10 minutes, and I can bring it up then. So glad to meet you, James."

"Pleasure, Andrew," he said, then nodded as Andrew left. "Holy shit. Is he always like that?"

"Unfortunately, since he started being considered for prefect, yes. And I don't want to be stuck with the campus rule enforcer for the next year or so. Any luck, he'll make a convincing argument, and you'll be moving your stuff after dinner."

"Thanks, mate. So where can one find girls around here?"

"At an all-male boarding school? Or at Ursuline, the all girl sister school that provides the cheering squad for our rugby games?" Jon asked conspiratorially.

"Ah, so you trying to get me to play rugby is also helping me to get a date?" James asked. 

"You said it, not me." Jon said, tossing him a candy bar from his desk stash. 

--00--

Anyhoo, now on with the reviewing! 


	4. Field Trip

Nepenthes Chapter 4: Field Trip, and Strange Keys.

_ Memory and forgetfulness are as life and death to one another. To live is to remember and to remember is to live. To die is to forget and to forget is to die._

Samuel Butler (1835–1902), British author.

James and Jon were inseparable after James switched places with Andrew. James made the rugby team, meaning that they were always at practice. Somehow, they managed to keep their marks high and yet keep their sanity, regardless of the Fathers. One night after curfew, they sat in the dark, whispering.

"James?"

"Yeah, Jon?"

"I see you drawing in that book a lot. What are you doing?"

James laughed. "Oh. I told you that I have amnesia, right?" he asked, uncertain of how to explain it.

"Yeah, you mentioned it once."

"They're people that I can't remember, but I see their faces. This one that I see, just about every night, I just have to draw him, because I think if I don't, I'll forget how he looks, and how he makes me feel."

"How?"

"Like he watched over me, even when it was almost impossible. That he loved me, no matter what happened. And that he was sad about something, like he had been betrayed by a best friend. I don't know. There are also times I draw someone who is about as old as a grandfather, and then a boy, my own age, with black hair and green eyes." James sighed. "It's a bit difficult to explain. I'll show you, though." He pulled out a flashlight, and handed it and the journal to him.

"Wow, James. It's great." He paged through slowly. "I had no idea that you were this good."

"Yeah. Grace completely encourages it, 'cause she thinks that it will help cure me of my memory loss. She sort of wonders where I came from. Though mostly, she wants Liam to be able to prosecute the people that I used to live with for child abuse," James replied. "Sorry… my mum and da. It's still a bit new to me."

"Jeez. I had no idea." 

"Yeah. That's the point. Could you imagine what I would go through if everyone knew?"

James stood next to Jon before their first rugby match. They wore identical blue and red jerseys, with blue shorts and white and red striped socks. "So those are the cheerleaders?" he asked, nodding in the direction of the girls in uniform on the sidelines of the pitch. 

"Forget the cheerleaders. Focus on the other team, eh?" Jon said, playfully elbowing James in the ribs.

James smiled sheepishly and took his place on the field.

The game went smoothly until James went to go get a ball from out of bounds. Another player purposely tripped him, and he went rolling into the cheerleaders from behind. "Son of a…" James began, and looked to see who he had knocked into.

"James, are you okay?" Jon asked concerned.

James looked straight into a pair of brown eyes and lost his breath. "Hi."

She blushed. "Hi."

Jon pulled James to his feet. "After the game, remember?"

"Sorry about that, um…"

"Mercy. Get back out there, James," she said, pushing him away.

He moved closer, and with a goofy grin, took the ball away from her, then ran back to throw it into play. 

St. Ignatius easily won the game, and James smiled at Jon. "Well, that wasn't as bad as I thought."

"We are perennial favorites to win our league. Guess you just bring good luck."

"It was James, right?" the brunette cheerleader asked, as James bent down to unlace his cleats.

"Yes. Mercy? Is that short for something?"

"Nope. Just Mercy. Like Temperance, my mum says," she said, tossing her hair to one side.

"Ah, well, I'm just going to find Jennifer. James, don't take too long, or there won't be any hot water in the showers," he winked.

"Shove off, you crazy Welsh bastard," James muttered. "So, um, I didn't hurt you when I…"

"Rolled straight into me? No, just knocked me off my feet a bit." She waved her hand. "You're new at St. Iggy's, aren't you?"

"Just started in September. How'd you guess?"

"Well, just about half of the guys your age at my school have tried to get me to go out with them at some point. And the other half are afraid to, but I still see them. But I haven't seen you before."

"Ah. Popular girl," James said, pulling the muddy socks from his feet and grabbing a pair of sandals.

"You, uh, wouldn't want to go with me to the All Saint's ball in a few days, would you?"

"Do the girls usually ask the guys?"

"No, but you would save me from your classmates," she said, laughing.

"Sure, why not. Um, I'll see if I can't give you a call the day before or so, okay?"

"Sure. Thanks, James," she said, giving him a small kiss on the cheek, then pulling some mud out of his hair. "You are a blonde, aren't you?"

He blushed. "Um, yeah. And we do have a great deal of fun." James caught up with Jon, who said, "Well?"

"Well, I have a date to the All Saint's party," James said, lifting his bag on his right shoulder, and keeping James on his left.

"You asked her out already?"

"Actually, she asked me out. Nice, huh?"

"What is it with you and women?" Jon asked, shaking his head. "And who was it? It wasn't Mercy was it?"

"Yes. And I must be just charming and good looking, I think. Oh, and modest, too," he said, getting elbowed by Jon. "You get a date with Jennifer?"

"Yes. You'll be jealous."

"Maybe not."

Christmas came and went, and James fit in nicely at St. Ignatius. John and he managed to avoid getting caught with too many contraband items, and even managed to get some people back for the way they treated the two of them. He and Mercy even managed to become something of an item.

One night in May, James had a nightmare, which was completely abnormal. Jon knew that James couldn't sleep some nights, but he had never cried out in the middle of a dream.

"Oh, God. Ron, Hermione. Please. Don't… don't hurt them. I'm the one that you want," James said, clutching his pillow as if it was guarding his very life. "No."

Jon padded over to where James was sleeping and woke him up out of the nightmare. "James, snap out of it."

James sat straight up, panting. "Shit. My book. I need my book." He grabbed his journal and a pencil and started sketching the face that had haunted his dream.

The face was pale, with red eyes, and a flat nose. No hair covered the head, and James shivered at the thought of who this man was. After he colored the shadows that the flickering flamelight had left on the man's face, he set down the pencil and considered the image.

"Who is that?"

"I don't know. But he was holding my neighbor hostage… and her friend."

"Shit. You think that was real?" Jon asked, rubbing his arms against a sudden chill.

"I don't know. But if it was, how the hell did I know?" he said thoughtfully. "Jon, go back to sleep."

"You going to be okay?" he asked, running his fingers through mussed brown hair.

"Yeah. Just fine…" he trailed off, staring at the face in the darkness of the room. The skin gleamed white, and it seemed to James that was the color that it should be.

James O'Brien hadn't been able to fall back asleep after the nightmare. Instead, he walked to his desk, and pulled out an antique key that was one of his sole original possessions. He reached out his hand, and held it firmly in his right fist. James froze as images of a large bank flooded his vision. It was gleaming in alabaster, with silvery doors. And strange creatures worked there. Gringotts. London, Diagonally. Words that seemed to make little to no sense, but James knew that he had to go somewhere, though.

James put down the key and packed a rucksack quickly with his toothbrush, some non-school clothes and his money. He got dressed in some of his Goth clothes, and put on his eyeliner and wrist-bands. Committing himself to figuring out what was going on, James grabbed the key again, and thought very hard about that Gringott's place and said, "Apparatus me."

James disappeared. A figure stepped out of the shadows. "Damn, I thought he'd never leave."

James reappeared in front of the bank that he had seen earlier in his mind. Stopping a man who was wearing what looked like a floor-length blue coat, he asked, "Sir, where am I?"

The man affected a confused expression. "You're in Diagon Alley in London. Why, where did you think you were?"

James rubbed his temples. "I don't know. I am confused out of my mind. Can you at least tell me what this is?" he asked, holding up the golden key.

"It's a key," the man replied dumbly.

"Do you have any idea to what?" James asked, getting a bit exasperated.

A slightly balding redhead appeared at James' elbow. "Is there something wrong, Amos?"

"Jeez. Will someone please tell me what the hell this is a key to?" James asked, severely aggravated.

"It's a Gringott's key. To a vault in that bank there. How did you get it?" the elder man asked.

James sighed. "Thank you. I've had it for as long as I can remember. And today I just had this urge to come here and use it. I don't know why."

"Ah. Would you care for an escort?" the second man asked.

"Okay," James said. 

The man steered him into the bank and past the rows of goblins. "This man here wishes to access his vault."

A goblin took the key and examined it. "Good to have you back. Griphook will take you to your vault."

"I'll be waiting here."

James nodded and followed the tiny goblin to his cart.

Once they reached his vault, James watched as the goblin pulled out his key and opened the door, revealing an obscene amount of money and a single trunk, which sat just in front of the door.

On top of the trunk sat a bag with a note pinned to it. The note had seven numbered items on it. It read:

1. Floo Powder

2. Leaky Cauldron

3. Three Broomsticks

4. Albus Dumbledore

5. Remove Glamourie

6. Remove Vita Nova

7. Save the day

He threw some gold and silver into the bag and stepped back outside. 

The goblin returned him to the lobby, where he met up with the man he had met earlier. "Got everything you need?"

"I think so. Does any of this make sense to you? Floo Powder, Leaky Cauldron, Three Broomsticks?"

"I guess so," the man said, thinking as he guided the boy back outside. "Floo Powder is a method of travel. And the other two are pubs. The Leaky Cauldron is just down the street. I'm headed to the Three Broomsticks, actually. How did you get here, though, if not by Floo Powder, or the Leaky Cauldron?"

"I don't know. I closed my eyes, thought of the bank and said, 'Apparatus me.'"

"Accidental Apparition. Not exactly unheard of, but not safe in the slightest," the man said, sighing. "I don't think you should do that again."

"Okay. So someone can tell me how to work this Floo Powder thing?" 

"Yes. I have somewhere to be, so I should get going. Safe travels," he said, before disappearing.

James looked at the sign that said, "The Leaky Cauldron" and walked inside. All movement stopped, and the patrons looked at him. "Excuse me, sir, I need to Floo somewhere, I think."

"Ah, okay. Well, you can use my fireplace."

James just looked at the less than completely toothed bartender in confusion. "I've uh… never used it before, so I need a bit of explanation, if you don't mind."

"Oh. Where are you headed?" Tom asked.

"The Three Broomsticks, I think."

"Well," he said, guiding James with a hand to the middle of his back, "You just take a pinch of this, and throw it into the fire and say your destination. Be sure to enunciate or you could end up miles from where you want to be."

"Okay. Thank you, sir," he said, taking a pinch from the jar he was offered. "The Three Broomsticks."

"It's Tom," he said, as James spun away.

--00--

So thanks to all my reviewers… I hope you keep reading.

Thanks for your reviews, and I hope you like the way I am taking this.


	5. Lost and Found

_"If a person lost would conclude that after all he is not lost, he is not beside himself, but standing in his own old shoes on the very spot where he is, and that for the time being he will live there; but the places that have known him, they are lost,—how much anxiety and danger would vanish." -- Henry David Thoreau_

James tumbled out in a cloud of soot and landed unceremoniously on the floor. Luckily, as he was wearing all black, it made little difference. He found himself face to face with a large black dog that he had obviously knocked into when he came out. And from the dog's expression, he had knocked into it rather hard. It growled, and James scrambled back. "Whoa. Shit. Sorry." He shook his head. "And now I'm talking to a dog. Next thing you know, I'll be having tea with a bloody Jabberwocky," he muttered.

If he hadn't known better, he'd have thought that the dog understood him as it cocked its head to the side inquisitively.

"Are you alright?" asked a gentleman in navy blue robes with graying light brown hair. He held out his hand as if to pull James to his feet.

As James took it, another flash of memories hit him and he flinched. Breathing heavily, James rode the resulting headache pain and pulled away. He then looked back into the other man's face.

"Are you okay?" he asked kindly.

"Don't touch me."

"What?" the man asked. "Why?"

"I don't know. But why do I know that your name is Remus Lupin?" James asked, finally realizing where the face had come from. It was in his sketchbook.

"I have no idea," the man said, stepping back in shock.

"Fuck," he breathed. "Then you're Albus Dumbledore, aren't you?" he said, turning to a man who resembled the elderly man he had drawn earlier too.

There were only 3 wizards in the pub then, and two witches, not including the innkeeper. One was the man he knew as Remus Lupin. The second was Albus Dumbledore. Third was the man who had helped him reach his vault in Gringotts. Both of the witches had reddish hair, but one was much older than the other.

"Yes. My name is Albus Dumbledore," the man said, smiling knowingly.

James walked closer cautiously and held out the parchment. "I don't have a clue what the rest of these mean, but so far, I am 4 for 7 today."

"Perhaps we should adjourn to a more private location to discuss this further, James O'Brien," he said.

"How the hell do you know my name?" James asked

"I have been waiting to meet you for nearly a day," Albus said. "Remus, please escort Mr. O'Brien to my office, and Minerva, show the Weasleys to the Common Room so that they can see Frederick, George and Virginia while they are here."

James nodded, and the dog's tail brushed his leg accidentally. James shuddered and sucked in a deep breath. "And maybe you can explain what is going on here?"

James sat in Albus Dumbledore's office less than a half hour later, in a large armchair. His blue eyes flashed dangerously as Remus paced, waiting for Albus to appear. James finally gave in and pulled out the bottle of black nail polish that was in his rucksack. He tried his CD player, but it didn't seem to be working.

Remus stopped pacing as his nose detected the odor of nail polish and looked James over again. James was wearing black Doc Martens, black trousers, another Goth t-shirt, his wristbands, and the now infamous tattoo. Remus nearly shook his head at the black eyeliner and nail polish as James said, "Well, Jeez. At least I haven't pierced anything yet!"

"How much do you know about me, James?" Remus asked, as he recovered from the shock of seeing a boy put on nail polish.

"Two words for you, Mr. Lupin. Full moon."

Remus winced, and the dog that had accompanied him to the office growled again. "Padfoot, stop that. He's just being honest. You're not afraid of me?"

"Of you? No. You're rather trustworthy, and it takes a lot for me to say that about other people. And for some reason, you are rather familiar. Of your dog, there? Absolutely terrified," James said, blowing on his nails.

"Padfoot? Why?"

"The memories that I got from him when his tail touched me were some of the scariest things that I can remember. The… uh… Dementors, especially. And besides. He's not really a dog, are you, Sirius Black?" James asked, turning to the dog with the last sentence.

The dog looked from Remus to James in mixed shock and horror. He transformed back just as Albus walked in. "How did you?"

"Hell if I know, but today is the most I have figured out in one day in the past nine months."

"What do you mean, James?" Albus asked.

"Mum – my adopted mum – says I have amnesia. She's a psychiatrist, so I am inclined to believe her. Of course, she claims that it was a severe defense mechanism after intense emotional trauma and physical abuse. I always thought that my defense mechanism of choice was swearing profusely at every opportunity," he said smiling. "But seriously, there is a lot that happened before July that I can't remember with any clarity."

"I see. James, with your permission, I am going to tell you what I know, but first I'd like you to show me what was in the bag that you are carrying." 

James opened the tan bookbag and out fell two textbooks (Standard Book of Spells Grade 5 and Dueling: Because Your Life Depends on It.), a piece of blank parchment, a bag of owl treats, a leather-bound photo album, a silvery cloak and a wand. Remus picked up the photo album and handed it to Albus, who looked through it and smiled. 

"James, #5 and 6 on this parchment are spells. One, the word Glamourie is a spell used to alter part of one's appearance, and the other is used to obscure memories to make someone able to have a fresh start. You see, about 9 months ago, one of my students disappeared, without a trace, after an altercation with his family. I have reason to believe that you are this student. And you have returned to us at the time that we need you the most," he explained. "With your permission, James, I would like to remove the two spells that I believe have been placed upon you."

James put his head in his hands and sighed. "For the love of all that is holy and sacred in this world. Look, until I met Hermione and Ron, I didn't believe in any of this magic stuff. So explain more clearly what is going to go on. Will it hurt? Will I lose the memories I have gained since July?"

"Removing the spells shouldn't hurt much worse than it does when you experience a side effect of Vita Nova that you have been demonstrating. It's rather rare that someone has such a reaction to touch as you do. And your memories will be unaffected by the reversal," Albus said, quieting James. "Are you willing to allow it?"

"Why not?"

Dumbledore pulled his wand and took a deep breath before saying, "Revealo Vita antiquus et finite glamourie."

James was hit by a bolt of blue light and fell forward out of the chair onto his hands and knees. His hair color changed to a dark brown, but no other changes were visible. After several shuddering breaths, he shook his head and said, "Merlin, Headmaster, that was worse than Cruciatus."

Then he lifted his eyes, revealing verdant eyes and said, "Hello Professors, hi Padfoot."

Sirius dropped to his knees in shock and hugged his godson. "Gods, Harry. I thought I'd lost you!" 

James/Harry leaned in, avoiding skin-to-skin contact, but glad for the return to his godfather's side.

The older man hugged him as if believing Harry to vanish if he let go for one second. "What the hell were you thinking?!?"

"I believe I was more concerned with getting out of the house on Privet Drive to do any actual thinking that night. At least, until I made it to the Leaky Cauldron, I didn't really think that much. I was in too much pain."

"What happened?" Remus asked concerned.

"I don't want to talk about it, Professor Lupin," Harry replied, lowering his head.

"Tell us, Harry," Sirius said, before Albus could intercede.

"I took a swing at Vernon and broke my arm," Harry said, hoping that they would leave well enough alone.

"Why? What did he say?"

"Nothing," Harry mumbled.

"Then what did he do?" Sirius asked angrily, as he had never had to work so hard to get an answer out of his godson.

"He… lost his job at the beginning of summer hols. And since there was no one to take his frustrations out on but me, he did."

Remus' face became a mask of shock. "Merlin."

Sirius's face just clouded with anger. "Where? Show me."

"Um… my back, and my wrists." Harry lifted the shirt where Sirius could see thin silver-white scars and reddish weals. He put it back, and was crushed into another hug from Sirius.

"I'm so sorry, Harry. This is all my fault," Sirius breathed, as tears came to both black haired men for the pain that Harry had suffered. "Why didn't you contact us as soon as this happened? We would have gotten you out of there immediately."

"I didn't want you to get in any more trouble, Sirius. I just couldn't stay there any longer, and I couldn't think of anywhere to go in the wizarding world that would be safe. Any person that I went to stay with as Harry Potter would have been the next… Cedric," Harry choked, pushing away from his godfather. "Something's happened, hasn't it?"

Albus pulled a piece of black-edged paper from the top drawer of his desk. "This was found where two of our students were last seen. Ms…"

"Hermione and Ron. I know. It was Voldemort, wasn't it?"

"We believe so, but we don't know quite how he got to them."

Harry took the letter from Dumbledore's hand. "'Dumbledore, I have Potter's friends. You have 7 days to send him to me using the enclosed Portkey. Send him alone or they will be killed. Voldemort.' Ron and Hermione are in trouble. Must be Tuesday."

"We can't let you go, Harry," Remus whispered.

"What choice do I have? He asked coldly, pacing the floor and pounding his fist into his palm. "If I don't go, they'll die.

"And if you do go, you could be killed or captured," Sirius replied.

"If it were me mum and da, you'd go, wouldn't you?"

It was only then that Sirius noticed Harry was speaking with an Irish accent, but it was more pronounced when he was upset. 

"Look, I'm going. Their lives will nae be on my head. If I can save them, I have to try," Harry said, his pacing becoming like that of a caged animal. "No one else dies because of me. I owe my friends that much."

"We've only got 3 days before Voldemort's deadline is up. There's no way you could be ready to fight him and survive."

Harry picked up the Standard Book of Spells off the floor and opened it to the page that held the Somnius charm. In the margin was scribbled in Harry's messy handwriting, "Banishing Soul Energies. Page 643."

"I left myself clues before I left so that I could fight him at any time," Harry replied. "I figured out once that Voldemort only survived in soul form until he met up with Quirrell. And after a Kiss, no magical power exists in a person. So I researched hexes I could use to kill his soul, as that would render him powerless, save for the influence of necromancy."

"Harry, banishing a person's soul is Darkest magic. It merits Azkaban as punishment for use," Remus whispered to him.

"I know, but I spent so much time in the library last year, and that was the best I could come up with."

Albus moved closer to Harry. "Your alternative is not to go. And to not go would be against your nature. We cannot make you stay if you decide to face him. But I personally disagree with that decision."

Harry had grown, in terms of height, muscle and sheer force of will. He faced his former Headmaster with a withering stare that James had used with Father Corday once when he was being unfair. Remus and Sirius could almost see the man falter. "So noted, Headmaster. But there are two things that I should like to point out. One, I disagreed with your decision to send me back to the Dursleys this past summer. I went anyways, because I trusted your judgment over mine, and you have seen the results. Two, you are not now, nor have you ever been my guardian. Right now, Grace and Liam O'Brien are. So, while I respect your age, experience and position, I completely reject your opinion. Because it's not worth much to me any more."

"Harry!" Sirius reproved harshly.

"So you care to be next, Sirius?" Harry asked, barely containing his fury towards the two of them. "I've got a great deal of anger at the world that I haven't gotten out in the past 15 years and Grace has been advising me to get rid of it. It's why I took up rugby at my best friend Jon's suggestion."

Remus moved closer to Harry gently. "Harry, I know a hell of a lot about anger. But you can't let it consume you."

Harry stiffened as he heard the whispers, then wandlessly summoned the items back into his bag. He strode from the office without a word. 

Sirius stared after him and shook his head. 

"What is it, Sirius?"

"Albus, did I ever show you the note he sent me before he disappeared?"

"No."

Sirius handed the Headmaster a tattered, yellowed piece of parchment. 

_ 'Dear Sirius, I hate to be awfully trite, but by the time you read this, I will be gone. I left the Dursleys at __7 pm__, and by __10 am__, I will be gone from the Leaky Cauldron too. _

_ 'I am tired, Sirius. Tired of fame and false love, of loneliness and heartbreak, of pain and suffering without end. I am tired of death, and I am tired of those who expect me to save the entire world on my own. How am I supposed to do that? I'm only 14._

_ 'You have shown me love, friendship and support without boundary or exception. And for that, I thank you with all my heart._

_ 'I don't know quite where I will go, or if I will return, but I am too trapped here to breathe easily. I have already done an anti-locator charm on myself, so neither the Ministry nor Voldemort will find me. And I don't want you looking. If you find me, you will find me much altered and very angry at the intrusion._

_ 'I love you very much. Take care of Remus for me please._

_ 'Harry.'_

"He was right. Much altered, and angry at the intrusion," Sirius breathed.

--00--

So anyways, I suck for not updating this. I am a grab-ass-tic piece of amphibian shit. 

Enough with that.

Thank you all for reviewing… I reiterate the former statement. I suck.

Thought you ought to know…


	6. Coming Home Again

_ His claim to his home is deep, but there are too many ghosts. He must absorb without being absorbed. -- Willie Morris "Coming on Back"_

Harry walked towards the Library, knowing that Remus was right. But, God, they had hurt him. Everyone in that office had, knowingly or unknowingly. Sirius had chosen Peter to be his parent's Secret Keeper and hadn't told anyone, which deprived Harry of his parents and godfather. Remus had forgotten his potion the night that they had captured Wormtail, and prevented Sirius' exoneration. Albus had sent him to the Dursleys and made his life hell. But Remus and Sirius had never and would never willingly hurt him. Shit, he was confused. Harry leaned against the wall and slid down to the floor, head in hands again. What have I become? Who am I really? "Who am I?" he wondered aloud.

"I don't really know, but you're right in my way," came a lilting Irish brogue from above him.

Harry looked up through reddened, tearful eyes and hoped his eyeliner wasn't running as he saw Seamus and Dean standing over him. The pair hadn't changed a bit. Dean was still tall and had a dazzling smile, and Seamus was still covered in freckles, and likely still exploding water. "It was a bloody rhetorical question, Seamus," he replied exasperated.

"Do you know us?" Dean asked.

"Bloody hell. The muggle clothes and the accent throw more people off than the glamour did." Harry swept back his hair and winced mildly at the subsequent gasps.

"Harry, mate! What are you doing here? Where have you been?"

"I came back because I heard about Ron and Hermione. But where I've been is a bit more complicated than that."

"Why are you dressed like that, Harry?" Seamus asked.

"You don't think I look good?"

"Scary, more like. Like a Slytherin would, if he was a Muggle," Dean said. 

"Well, just because you're my friends doesn't mean you can insult me," Harry sighed. "You guys got some time to talk?"

"Well, it's the last class of the day, but we've got Divinations…" Dean said.

"Screw Divinations," Seamus retorted. "It's complete crap."

"If it's complete crap, then why did she say that a Dark wizard would return to our school in May? It's obviously Harry," Dean countered, thumping Harry on the shoulder.

"Or maybe she smoked some of my marijuana," Harry laughed.

"What?" Dean asked sharply.

"Again with the 'bit more complicated' part," Harry replied getting to his feet. "Right now, I need to go to the Library before the Staff figures out what I'm up to."

Dean scratched his head and asked, "What do you need from the Library?"

"From the two of you? A distraction."

Two mischievous grins were his response. "Oh, we're good at that, Harry."

About 10 minutes later, Harry had all the books from the Restricted Section that he needed from his list in the Standard Book of Spells. The three walked back to Gryffindor Tower and Harry talked about leaving the Dursleys, but carefully avoided the reasons. "So here I was, sitting on a street corner in Reading, without any memory of who I was, or what had happened to me and Grace, the woman who became my mum, stumbled upon me and took me in. So she took me to her house and she and her husband adopted me as a son. I've got a one-year-old baby brother, named Patrick, and I go to a Catholic boarding school not more than 50 miles from here, just across the England-Scotland border. I started playing rugby, and my roommate is my best friend and teammate. I sort of wish that you could meet him. Anyways, here's where it gets weird."

"Yeah. It's not weird now…"

"Shut up. Guess who my next door neighbor was, in Reading?"

"The Queen Mother?" Dean asked.

"No. Hermione. I didn't remember who she was, but I still made friends with her. And Ron came over during the summer. So they both know me as Harry and as James."

The apparent weirdness of the situation dawned on the pair. Dean continued. "And the whole marijuana-Goth thing?"

"Right," Harry said, laughing. "I… sort of messed up the Vita Nova spell. It's a bit difficult, you know. So anyways, I remembered general feelings of depression, sadness, guilt, rejection, and pain. I managed to keep those for some reason. Grace tells me that I 'acted out in a marginally acceptable fashion to manifest my darker feelings in a way so that the world would know to leave me alone.'"

"And…"

"And the people I hung out with this summer when Hermione was busy smoked pot. They gave me my own little stash and I had a joint every once in a while. But I quit in August. It's something of a release, as you can guess," Harry replied sheepishly.

"So you were happy in your life as James?"

"Aye, I was."

"You know, Harry," Seamus said laughing. "I think this is the best I have ever heard you speak."

"Oi! Shut up. My name's James Edward O'Brien. Like I wouldn't be Irish?"

They reached the portrait hole and Harry donned his Invisibility Cloak. "OWLs are important."

"Don't tell me, Hermione's influence?" Harry asked, shaking his head.

"She made Prefect." Dean said, walking to the 5th year dorms. He opened the door and ushered the two in, before locking it and putting up a silencing charm.

Harry noted sadly that his bed had been removed. Where there had once been 5 sets of furniture, there were now 4. Proof that things really had changed, Harry thought. Shaking his head, he threw his things on what he thought was Ron's bed and pulled a chair out, swung it around and sat in front of Dean's bed. "Here's where it goes from weird to surreal. Last night, I had a dream that Ron and Hermione had been kidnapped, but I didn't know by whom. I know now that it was Voldemort, but I didn't then because of the memory charm. When I woke up, I found my Gringott's key and grabbed it. Then I Apparated to Diagon Alley and followed the trail of clues I had left, which led me back here. Dumbledore took the memory charm and glamour off. I found out who had them, and I flipped out. Yelled at Dumbledore, and my godfather and then you found me."

"Your godfather?"

"Oh, right. My godfather is Sirius Black, and he's innocent."

They looked at him. "So how much marijuana did you smoke?"

"No. We knew this after 3rd year," Harry replied, realizing how little he had told his other dormmates about his adventures.

"Why'd you yell at them?"

"Well, I found a way to kill Voldemort, but they think it will kill me."

"Why do they think that?"

Harry pulled out the book entitled Banishing Soul Energies. 

"Merlin's beard. That's some seriously heavy stuff, mate. Dangerous in the extreme," Seamus said.

"What do you mean, Seamus?" Dean whispered.

"Muggleborns…" he sighed. "In order for a Dark Soul to be banished, the spell caster must be his polar opposite. He or she must be of the purest, noblest heart, with all the power of Light magic at his/her disposal. Otherwise, the soul can transfer bodies. And kill Harry," Seamus said. "They're right. It's awfully risky."

"I know." Harry breathed. "But I don't know anything else that will work, before he can A-K me."

"Then tell me what you're fighting for." Seamus said.

Harry said nothing. He pulled out a picture from his wallet. "Grace, Liam, Trick, and me at Christmas. I'll fight to protect them. Ron and Hermione. You two. Everyone who knows me."

"Wow. Well put," Dean said, nodding his head appreciatively. "You have the chance to do what your parents did. To protect and fight for those who you love. It sucks, but if that's what you have to do, then it's what you have to do."

Harry smiled at the two teens in front of him. "Hell, why can't we be the grownups? Our decisions make tons more sense," he asked sincerely.

"We will be someday. But until then, what do you say we have a little fun with the Slytherins with the help of a few items from Fred and George?"

Harry took out his wand and recast the Glamourie, which caused Dean and Seamus to do a double take. 

"You know, we didn't recognize you without the spell. You ought to be fine without the disguise."

"This is the twins you're talking about. They've known me since 1st year as well. And I wouldn't put it past them," Harry/ James replied.

"Whatever you say, mate."

The three of them walked to the 7th floor dorms, where they found the twins, Ginny and Lee Jordan sitting on one of the beds. "What is it, Seamus?" Ginny asked.

"Well, Dean and I met up with an old buddy of ours, and we thought we would prank the Slytherins with him, while he was visiting. We just need some supplies," Seamus responded, indicating James at the right point and winking when the word 'supplies' was brought up.

Ginny rolled her eyes, while the boys adopted mischievous grins. 

James strode forward and shook their hands. "My name is James. You two must be the infamous Fred and George. And Lee Jordan. And this is?"

"Ginny Weasley. Their sister."

"So what'd you three have in mind?"

"Dungbombs, Electric Fudge and a couple of Canary Creams."

"We've got something better," George said, his grin moving from mischievous to wicked. He grabbed a few potions bottles from underneath the frame of his bed, and handed them to each co-conspirator.

The seven traipsed to the kitchen, mostly because James was dragging Ginny by the wrist just for the fun of it. After the house elves divulged where the Slytherin table's food was, they poured the potion in all of the food and drink that they could.

"So where you from, James?"

"Well, my school's just south of here, but my parents live in Reading."

"School?"

"Yeah. St. Ignatius Preparatory College. It's a Muggle school." He smiled. "I'm considered a bit of a hellion there. Always in trouble with the Jesuits, but they like me cause I'm good at sports."

"Who or what are the Jesuits?" Ginny asked, carefully standing off to the side.

"The teachers. Catholic priests and brothers. You won't believe how much some Muggles can rival what I've heard about this McGonagall person."

Dean and Seamus laughed.

"Done." Fred tucked the bottle back into his pocket. "Let's run."

As they left the kitchen, with James stealing a pastry or two, a warm voice came from behind them. "James."

James froze. "Shit," he whispered. "Professor Lupin."

"We've been looking for you."

"I know, it's just I needed to think. And the office wasn't helping my disposition." James smiled. "I do need to apologize to you three for being an arsehole."

"Who, James?" Fred asked.

"Remus, my godfather and your headmaster. I sort of went off earlier. Must be my Irish side," he added as Seamus and Dean gawked.

"Didn't know you had the stones for that, mate. Didn't know anyone did," Dean said.

"Wait. You just said that you're a Muggle. Why were you talking to the Headmaster?" Ginny asked.

James flinched. 

"Does anyone know?" Remus asked, in hushed tones.

"Just Dean and Seamus. They saw me without the glamour and we talked for a while."

"Ah. And no one else?"

"No."

"Okay. Albus has prepared a room for you and wanted to speak with you after dinner." He ignored Ginny's still unanswered question. "He also asked that you give me your wand."

"Hell. And I suppose that my godfather wants it too?" He rubbed his forehead.

"As a matter of fact, yes. He does."

James sighed and pulled out his wand. "Fine."

Seamus saw James expression and knew that it was like asking for a wizard's arm to be ripped off. A bunch of Slytherins walked by and knocked Seamus forward into James.

James flashed through Seamus' mind and brought both hands to his head.

"James!" Remus said, pulling him away from Seamus, the wand dropping to the floor.

James slumped against a wall, sucking in deep breaths. "Why is it still happening if the enchantment was removed?"

"I don't know. But you're going to the Hospital Wing." Remus picked up the wand and guided James by the shoulder away from the students. 

Seamus shared a Look with Dean and followed the professor and James. "James, what is it?"

"Seamus, remember I told you about reading people when I was trying to get here? Well, it appears I can still do it, even after getting my memory back. And it should have stopped by now," James replied, rubbing his right temple.

"That's what we thought too. I don't understand. What other enchantments did you use?" Remus asked.

"Well, the magic masking spell, anti-locator spells, a couple of size charms on my trunk, a vision repairing spell, the Vita Nova, and the glamourie," James said, racking his brain. "I think that's it, Remus. It's been 9 months, so I don't really remember."

"Okay," Remus said, pulling him towards the gargoyle and summoning Albus. "Headmaster, he just read Seamus."

Albus saw the fear in James' eyes. "I'm sorry, Headmaster. It was an accident," he said, and Seamus nodded.

"I know you are, my boy," he said, taking James by the shoulder, as Remus had earlier, but consciously avoiding physical contact. "Mr. Finnegan, I will see to Mr. O'Brien. You may return to the tower until dinner."

Seamus gave him a meaningful look.

"It's okay, Seamus. Any luck, I'll be joining you for dinner."

"I'm going to go get your godfather. We'll meet you there."

"I…"

"You don't have to say anything, James. You've been under considerable stress and with these recent episodes, I cannot see how else you could have responded to our mixed messages," he said, gently, entering the Hospital Wing.

"Albus, what is it?" Madame Pomfrey asked as they entered the ward.

"Poppy, this young man may be suffering from a side effect of a recently cast Vita Nova. Can you examine him without any physical contact?"

She sighed heavily. "I suppose so. Any active enchantments?"

"If you would remove the glamour, James?"

"I would if Remus hadn't already taken my wand and left this area of the castle with it," James replied glibly. 

"Thank you for complying with our wishes. Finite Glamourie."

The blonde hair went black again.

"Potter?" she asked in shock.

"Yes."

"Well, let's begin." She pulled her wand and checked for any other charms.

"Harry, has this happened with any Muggles or Muggle objects?" Dumbledore asked.

Harry thought hard and then replied, "No."

"Is that significant, Albus?" Remus asked from the doorway.

"Yes. It might mean that I am only to touch Muggles for the rest of my life," Harry said depressingly.

"Come on, it might not be like that."

"Or it may, Sirius. You don't know any more than I do," he responded hotly, putting his head in his hands, now rapidly becoming his most common expression. "Fuck it all," he whispered.

Remus stepped forward. "Harry, where did you learn to swear like that?"

"That's right, you didn't know. I lived on the streets part of last summer. Until I got from the Leaky Cauldron to Reading, where I met my new family. And after that, I started hanging out with my new friends who cursed every other word." He sighed, looking at them. "We've been over my defense mechanisms, remember?"

"Well, Albus, there's nothing physically wrong with Mr. Potter. No spells that I can detect, it's just that he possesses power orders of magnitude higher than anything I have seen in a student in years. He's almost as powerful as you now, Professor," she whispered.

He nodded. "Thank you, Poppy. Harry, if you decided that you care do go to dinner, please wear long sleeves and a cloak. I still wish to speak to you when you are done."

He conjured a black cloak for Harry and replaced the glamour.

James nodded assent and walked to the Great Hall, where Dean and Seamus were waiting.

"You okay, mate?"

"Yeah, it's just that I read every magical object I come in contact with, excepting my wand and including people. So keep everything and everyone away from me, right now, and I'll be fine," he said, pulling the cloak around himself, defensively.

"Okay. Say the word and we'll kill whoever is messing with you."

James smiled.

Seamus and Dean each grabbed a covered arm and guided James to the Gryffindor table. The twins caught sight of him and smiled.

"James, are you okay?"

"Yes, George. But I'm starving." He sat down and watched as his plate filled with food.

"You never answered my question," Ginny said.

James sighed. "Would you like to know the number of questions I have been asked today, Ginny?"

"Gin, just leave him alone, please?" Dean asked.

"How long now, Fred?" Seamus asked.

"Seven seconds now," he said, checking his watch.

At one, the Slytherins were turned into a veritable boatload of kittens. Stifling snickers, James, Dean and Seamus laughed into their food. The kittens mewed pitifully.

"So, anyone got a name?"

"How about Meow Mix?" James asked, trying not to choke on his pumpkin juice.

"Nice," Dean replied, nodding his head.

Snape stood up and looked around, before saying, "Finite Incantatem." He then glared at the guilty Gryffindors.

"Oh, crap," Seamus said.

"Just play it cool. Let me handle this," James said as Snape came closer. James just scratched his head, and then laced his fingers in front of him.

"I know you five are to blame for this. And I don't know you, but the Headmaster shall hear of this," he said dangerously.

"You know, we've got a bloke like him at St. Iggy's. Father Corday. We once replaced his rosary beads with Mardi Gras beads, because he gave my best friend detention for no good reason," he said, as the Gryffindors laughed. James stood and whispered to Snape. "And you know me. The answer to the first question that you ever asked me is that Wormwood and Asphodel are an integral part of the Draught of Living Death."

Snape's eyes opened a little wider, but then he smiled. "I see. Then the Headmaster shall hear of this." He swept away. 

--00--

Well, another chapter. Hope you enjoyed it. 

Thanks to all of my reviewers.

As always, read and review.

10-18-03


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